


the glass fox

by DemonxRose



Category: teen wolf - Fandom, the glass swallow
Genre: Au Everyone is mythical but Stiles, Heavily influenced by the book, I add this b/c I accidently, I will fix it when all the ch. are done, Multi, Oh and even if Stiles is weak and highly breakable he's still kick ass, Put her she etc instead of he etc, boy!Stiles, original book is a girl and I get confused, since the main character of the, this is going to be fun, you are warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonxRose/pseuds/DemonxRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had a secret that threatens his whole world</p><p>Stiles designs exquisite stained glass for the windows of his city. But the thing is Stiles is human in fact the first human ever born and possibly the last. Fearing what would happen to their child if Stiles status ever came out into the open the Stilinski’s swore to keep it a complete and utter secret between them and their closest and most trusted family members swearing to take it to their graves. Unfortunately his mother met her end soon than anyone could expect leaving the little family of three into two. </p><p>To keep his secret hidden, Stiles leaves home and travels to a strange new country filled with people who changed skins. His trip becomes a nightmare when bandits attack and he is abandoned in a society on the edge of disaster. To survive, he must discover new strengths in himself and seek out the other people in this society has scorned, including a scowly werewolf who is one of the “untouchables.”</p><p>~~SORRY for the long wait my computer got the dreaded blue screen and I've only recently been able to get a new one, so i'm gonna spruce up what I wrote and rewrite the stuff that died along with my old computer. Along with all the other stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the glass fox

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a spin off of the glass swallow book by Julia Golding but still tweaked heavily as hell to the point i hope its interesting. So this is my little break from all the other stories I have going on since I have most of the story already pre-written so I have a LOT of it to go off of. Hope you enjoy it and I'll have another chapter to my other stories up soon.
> 
> By the way it will help if you don't question the madness too much. 
> 
> The Crippled are those who have little magic and are treated like we used to treat women back in the days. Any questions ask me but other than that have fun.

Caught out in the storm, Stiles ran for home, fleeing the barrage of droplets hammering rings in the dirty puddles sending ripples through the murky water. His normal route down Smith Alley has become a quagmire.

“Blast all Weather mages,” he muttered, hovering on the edge of the muddy walkway wondering if he could make it across without slipping and falling coating himself in mud. If he did it would be at the expense of his new breeches and leather boots he had gotten three days ago on his eighteenth birthday. He should have known the weather mage was not to be trusted. This wasn’t the first time he had listened to one and wound up ruining yet another piece of clothing or some other unfortunate event befallen him.

Thunder crackled up above warning of a new onslaught of rain and thunder. Deciding to wait out the worst of the it under an overhanging roof of a near by building Stiles retreated and huddled against the wall making sure his basket staid dry from the downpour. He didn’t want all his days worth of haggling to get ruined. A gust of wind cut through his thin clothing making him shiver he pulled his shawl around him tighter and closed his eyes listening to the water hitting the roof drumming a beat only the sky knew the tune to.

A cart rumbled past making Stiles eyes snap open to watch its progress under the downpour. The owner of the cart huddled under a canvas in hopes of keeping the rain from soaking him any further oh though by the looks of him he was already soaked to the bone his grizzled face under the peak of his make shift shelter. He spotted Stiles huddled under the overhang watching him draw closer and he flashed him a kind smile.

“Want a lift little master?” the old man called.

“No thank you,” Stiles yelled back a little frown tugged his mouth down a little at being called well little. But flashed a smile anyway he was raised to be polite and the old man hadn’t meant any insult even though he was a little miffed. “I’ll wait under here where it’s dry.”

“Suit yourself nasty weather this is wouldn’t want to be caught out here for too long.” he grumbled as he passed Stiles.

“That it is.”

“Good day to you little master may you get home dry.”

“Good day don’t stay out in the rain too long you might catch something.”

The guy gave a humph mixed with a little snort of laughter as he passed by the cart jolted as it went dousing the walls of the alley with dirty water the backwash splattered onto Stiles pants wetting the orange, white, and black fox he had embroidered on the hem. He grimaced cursing himself for not jumping out of the way in time. The wagon turned the corner and once again Stiles was alone again. Stiles looked up at the sky and by the looks of it he was most likely going to be here for a while yet. Stiles seized the chance to day dream letting his thoughts trickle back into the past like the water running away down the gutters.

According to his father he had been born in such a storm. Born on the first day of March in the third year of the reign of King Ramil and Queen Toashira, he had been born into the gray morning of the world. As the midwife cut the umbilical cord the heavens opened rains pouring from the eaves over the bedroom window like a waterfall. The flowering vine that clambered up the brickwork and peeked into the room stirred and twitched under the onslaught orange trumpet petals bobbing wildly. Flushed red with outrage the newborn mewed and protested as he took his first unwilling breath fists waving spastically even then blindly. His mother roused by the cry lifted her head from the pillow reached out to take the child making grabby hands at the midwife.

“Little Stylus,” Sunbeam murmured happily down at her baby boy snuggling the baby to her breast; choosing a suiting the moment of birth as was custom in the families belonging to the glassmakers gild. She had indeed given birth while one was jabbing at her back so she thought it was fitting.

Torrent better known as John took his wife’s hand in his scarred fist smoothing his fingers over her palm. He caressed her with the same light touch he used for his finished masterpieces as they cooled after coming out of the furnace. John and Sunbeam had waited so long for to have a baby after years of trying and he could hardly believe it had finally happened.

“He’s a miracle Sunbeam,” he said hoarsely. “Perfect. And he’ll be the first of many, you’ll see. He’ll have brothers and sisters to play with and wake us up in the crack of the morning to go watch the sunrise. He’ll never be alone.”

But he was wrong there was to be no more children. Before the year was out fever swept the land and Sunbeam Stilinky- Glassmaker was among the many that died leaving John with a brand new baby to take care of and a business to manage.

“You must marry again for the child’s sake,” their neighbor advised the usual silent man toiled over his workbench, rolling, spinning, and blowing the molten gather twisting it with pincers into anguished shapes. He had come over to help with John in the forge as silent support in his neighbors time of grief and had for many years known the couple next to him and wished to give the new father some advice that could help.

Stiles father had merely shook his head and returned to creating droplet-shaped bubbles the only tears he allowed himself to shed for his beloved wife. As he finished each one he went to Stiles room and suspended it over his sons cradle. He carried on until the ceiling in Stiles room was covered with them. When the setting sun shone obliquely through the window the teardrops caught the light scattering rainbows across his room. At last his grieving at the furnace done John sat besides Stiles cot and admired the effect watching as the rainbows danced across the room.

“I’ll give you the moon and stars Stylus,” he crooned to the baby. “But for now here are your mother’s sunbeams. You and I must carry on it’s what she would have wanted.”

As Stiles had grown the teardrops had stayed hanging in his room a sanctuary at his busy home though after having his name butchered too many times for no one could say it right he now went by Stiles. His room had become the place where he dreamed and made his plans. Now he had reached the age of eighteen and his father had risen to the head of his craft his workshop on the outskirts of the capital city of Tigral a place of pilgrimage for those who wished to collect the finest glassware. Young men and women fought to become Johns apprentices; he could have filled his house three times over with pupils had the guilds ruled allowed it. Stiles thought the five who lodged there where more than enough though their voices loud in the kitchen boots clattering on the stairs at all hours making it at times hard for him to sleep let alone concentrate.

And feeding the bottomless pits required many trips to and fro from the markets even if the weather was like this. Stiles wiggled his toes in his damp boots amused by his ability to blame the apprentices for everything.

Stiles glanced up at the sky and saw that the clouds were finally beginning to break up the intensity of the storm starting to fade. Despite the bad weather and the cold Stiles felt strangely content set apart by the weather which was keeping others indoors or hurrying to do so. He rarely got any peace at home and it was a nice change. Orders for his father’s products had flooded in ever since John developed an expertise in the making of stained-glass windows; all acknowledged him as the leading craftsmen of the art. To walk into a room lit by a John window was to step inside a miracle, they said, and Stiles agreed. It was only a matter of time before the Queen herself had chosen John to make the stained glass for the temple being built into the palace complex.

Stiles shaded his eyes to look over the rooftops of Tigral to the throne room at the summit of the hill that could be seen even where he was standing; the temple just beyond. The tempest had tarnished the gold pavilions and stripped the fruit trees of their leaves- yet another gloomy day after weeks of rain. It had truly been a dismal harvest and without the wise government of Prime Minister Melletin the land would have been facing a winter of starvation. As it was though the city would avoid any real suffering though everyone would be expected to tighten their belts and obey the rationing laws. His father wasn’t too happy about that worried that Stiles already thin as he was would become ill from the lack of food not that it really harmed him any but his father stilled worried. Commissions such as the Queen’s where hard to come by in these difficult days but hopefully the job should see the forge through the bad times until everything got better. Stiles knew their forge would do better than the others and was pretty damn grateful for the Queen’s generosity as the saint that she was funded public works out of her private purse.

Slowly but surly the rain eased off and weak rays of sunshine filtered through the iron-gray clouds. Seeing as now was good a time as any Stiles edged his way down the alley jumping from doorstep to doorstep to avoid the worst of the filthy water even though it was a 50/50 chance Stiles might slip and fall into the muck. Raising his pant legs above his shins out of the wet earned him a whistle from Mil Blackfire one of old man Gills smith’s boys.

“Want to come and dry off by our fire Master Stiles?” he called with a leer. “I’ve a nice spot for you just here.” He patted his knee as he lounged in what he though was a alluring way against the anvil.

“Save it!” Stiles replied rolling his eyes at Mil’s antics. Mil was courting and wooing everyone which was half the district if rumors were to be believed. Besides it was obligation to his lecherous ways that he propositioned Stiles Mil offered everyone a chance to warm his bed so Stiles didn’t think much of it. “I know your adoring mob of admirers wouldn’t be too pleased to hear you’ve invited me in to sit on you.”

Mil gave Stiles a cocky smile his hand ghosting against his crotch in a suggestive in your face way. “We could keep it just between us two lovely. Come on Stiles you’re half drowned let me heat you up.”

Stiles leapt to the next step in a flounce happy that he didn’t slip and make a fool of himself. “Not now, not ever. I don’t believe in secrets expressly one like that thank you very much.”

Mil gave up at least for now with a good-humored laugh waving goodbye to Stiles with one more lingering look before turning around and going back to work. Soon the regular chink of hammer on metal alerted Stiles Mil was actually working and not ogling him while Stiles jumped around.

But the exchange reminded Stiles that he did have once secret he had to keep- one that risked his whole world if it came out.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
“Stiles my love are you soaked?” His father asked as he strode out of the workshop. John was a big man with capable hands with steel gray hair streaks running through his light brown hair face slightly wrinkled but he had deep worry lines between his brows telling Stiles his father had been anxiously waiting for his return though he tried to hide it. Whisking the basket from Stiles grip his father smoothly steered her to the furnace. Work stopped as the apprentices stopped to watch the pair.

His father tutted. “Look at you: you look like a cat that’s taken a tumble down the well.” He brushed Stiles straggling locks off his forehead and kissed his brow. John smiled into Stiles amber eyes he often told Stiles that he counted himself lucky to be able to look into such pretty eyes that reminded him of honey every time he saw him.

Used to his fathers fussing Stiles submitted to his father peeling off his wet shawl to hang in the warm spot so it would return from muddy red to its normal crimson.

“I took shelter under an overhang for a while.” he told him, dragging his fingers through his wet hair to get it untangled since he didn’t have his comb to do it. Stiles twisted the damp wavy hair up out of the way and fastened it with a pearl headed pin that had been his mothers. “Smith alley had turned into a swamp I could have swum back.”

“Aye, the blacksmiths’ guild said they were going to see to the drainage but they never do what they promised. Sit down sit down, Nettle fetch Master Stiles some tea.”

The young apprentice a lean youth all bony knees and elbows like Stiles used to be before he hit puberty and filled out but not by much, at least now he didn’t look like a walking twig, hurried off to the kitchen to do his new task.

“I’m not that wet Dad.”

“Love your dripping on the floor and I can see right through your shirt”

Looking down he indeed was now wearing a see through shirt and was creating a nice little puddle he scuffed at said puddle with the toe of his grimy boot making the fox on his hem dance. “But I got the beef it was the last bit to be had and I had to haggle for a good five minutes to get it.”

“I’m sure we’ll all be grateful for your expert haggling when suppertime comes but for now I just want to get my boy dry.”

Nettle came back with a steaming cup of tea that smelt suspiciously like his favorite tangerine blend. “Here you are Master Stiles you get that down and you’ll feel much better.”

Stiles smiled up at the young man who was only a year or two older than he was and the sweetest of the current bunch of apprentices. “Thank you Master Nettle.”

Nettle blushed and stammered something incomprehensible as he backed away.

John nudged his son. “Stop it,” he whispered.

“Stop what?”  
  
“Smiling at him the poor boy’s in love with you- half of them are you know. He’s quite handy until you come along and them he’s all fingers and thumbs. I can’t do anything with them when you’re in the workshop. I’m thinking of banning you from being in here at least when the fires lit and no one is in danger of hurting themselves.”

Stiles laughed at the thought of someone let alone half the apprentices being in love with him but was it true? He father wouldn’t lie to him so he glanced around at the apprentices trying not to make it look too obvious that he was watching them. They had returned to their tasks but every so often they would sneak a look at their master and his son. A number of tools clattered to the floor as a plague of clumsiness swept over them.

“They don’t fancy me- they just fancy the idea of marrying the master’s only child,” he whispered back only to well aware of the realities of life in the gild craft.

John didn’t laugh as Stiles expected he would indeed Stiles comment made him a little glum- a strange mood for his usually cheerful father. Something must have happened to have upset him this much. He knelt at Stiles feet to ease off her boots his tough leather apron reluctantly folding in the middle.

“That might be so, love, but it doesn’t stop you from being the prettiest glassmaker’s son in Tigral.”

Stiles prodded him in the stomach with her foot. “I’m almost the only glassmaker’s son Dad in case you’ve forgotten. You wouldn’t count Master Blizzards Ember because he’s only three.”

“I’d forgotten that little mite. Well then you’re the second prettiest-”

He didn’t finish because Stiles had jabbed him harder but not enough to where he hurt his father.

“Where’s your respect for an old man?” he gasped threatening to tickle the sole of Stiles feet which where one of his weak spots his father knew and used often.

“Show me an old man and I’ll respect him you’re still in your prime.”

John just shook his head sadly releasing Stiles foot and standing up. “No I’m not love.” He tousled his damp hair. “When you’ve finished your tea go up to your room I’ve left something in it to see.”

He didn’t say anything else- he didn’t need to.  
Stiles took a sip of his tea and nodded. “All right Dad I’ll go right up.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The glass teardrops tinkled gently in the breeze coming through the open window as Stiles shuffled around the room. He rubbed his hair dry and quickly changed into a white blouse and a different pair of pants which was a fine woolen the color of the sunset. He laced up the side of the pant legs as he took a seat at the desk to unroll the scroll his father had left there.

This was a part of their secret while his father was the master glassblower providing the skill to color the glass to the exact shade required and solder them in their lead frame it was John’s son who had the vision to create the design that had proved so successful. But the thing was you had to have a certain amount of magic to actually get into the guild and seeing as Stiles didn’t have a lick of magic he and his dad could get in a lot of trouble.  
  
Everyone had some magic or was a creature of magic never had there been born one without it. Stiles was a complete anomaly one of the first and possibly the last to ever be born making him even more alone in this world then he would ever know or come to know. Not knowing what would happen to his child John kept it a secret only he and his son would ever know. But if someone ever found out their secret Stiles did know they would be in so much trouble for not reporting Stiles to the council his father would be banished and Stiles well even his imagination couldn’t come up with what would happen to him.

So they where pretty fortunate that the guild never got wind of Stiles little problem since they where a bunch of sticklers for their old-fashioned ideas that held strong even withstanding many of the reforms introduced by the King as they could. The guild-masters did not allow weak magicians in their guild forbidding any from the art form and with someone likes Stiles without a lick of it they would give birth to a horse if they ever found out. And despite his fathers well recognized gift he would be thrown out of not only the guild but Tigral that is if anyone in the family found out their little secret seeing as if anyone was going to find out it would be one of them. And even if it went against his fathers world wide protective streak to keep him safe but to work together was important to both of them they made a perfect team; the creativity of one prompting the other to new heights of achievements something the guild or the council failed to even consider possible.

Yet- thought Stiles, taking note of the suggested alterations to his original design- he had allowed himself a little rebellious gesture against the guild and the council despite the danger. Inspired by Queen Taoshira’s native custom of taking a creature to represent an individual’s personality, Stiles included his own sign that of the fox in every window he designed. Something he was sure his father knew full well about but staid silent about it every time he made the glass. Besides a teardrop would have been too clear a statement so he had chosen the red fox that only appeared around his birthday in Tigral as his signature. If you looked carefully the bushy tail and sly face of the fox wove their way in each of John’s creations each as the fox itself or more stealthily in the repeated foliage and the ground. The guild-masters and council were praising his work without even knowing it.

With a little snort of laughter Stiles smoothed out the parchment that crackled as he weighted it flat with some smooth stones so it wouldn’t go curling in on him when he was in the zone. In this design for the temple the fox was dancing around the child-goddesses legs, her playmate in the spring field. Luckily the Queen had found no fault with it but had requested that a dragonfly be added hovering over the child’s head. Stiles picked up his charcoal and began to sketch the new element already seeing the colors in his mind a brilliant turquoise blue and black, a fine web for the wings in special blown glass that would trap the bubbles to represent the mesh.

An hour later his father knocked discreetly on his door snapping him from his work fueled trance. “May I come in?”

“Of course oh father of mine.” Stiles sat back from his work pleased with himself on how it turned out. “What do you think?” Absentmindedly he toyed with his necklace of silver-glass teardrops that his father made for him long ago.

John bent over to get a closer look his hand resting on the soft wavy locks of hair that scattered down his sons back that were slowly coming loose of his pin. Now dry Stiles hair had returned to its natural color deep reddish brown that shone like polished wood.

“Magnificent as always my love.”

“Thank you I thought so too but can you make the glass for the dragonfly wings as I’ve suggested?”

John scratched his chin which was a life time habit that signaled that he was thinking not that Stiles needed to know that but it did come in handy for the apprentices. “With a little experimentation I supposed I could.”

“You’ll enjoy the challenge.”

“You know me too well love.” He let his hand linger on Stiles shoulder lightly toying with a piece of hair. “You’re my world you know that Stylus, right?”

Alerted by his fathers unusual somber tone Stiles turned his head to look up at him but he wasn’t looking at him but out the window the setting sun bronzing his face with golden light.

“What’s wrong Dad? You’ve been acting weird ever since I came home, did something happen?”

“I’ve invited your cousins to come to supper tonight.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose in distaste he loathed it when his cousins came over. “Shadow and Matt? I can see why you’re acting all gloomy I would be sad too if I had them in my home.” Neither of them liked the company of the two young relatives though they where still older than Stiles by like a year they where both aggressive businessmen making a name for themselves in the guild of glass traders. John only used their services because they where family might as well be strangers for all Stiles cared. All they talked about was the price of raw material, the strength of the market of the other kingdoms, or the evil of import duties so in other words they had not a grain of sand of creative soul in them or the ability to appreciate the beauty of the pieces of art they handled. If you made a joke in Shadow’s presence it would take five minutes before he got the punch line and his laughter was creaky and dutiful. Matt was quicker witted but he laughed only when someone else was the target of the joke. In other words Stiles didn’t really like them, at all.

“Now that I’m fifty the guild has said that I have to name my successor in my workshop.” John added as if it where an after thought, clearly he had planned this ahead of time.

“You’ve chosen?” Stiles asked in a small voice not sure what to so his emotions where all over the place and for once words eluded him. Part of him had known that their life could not continue on its quiet path but he hadn’t realized that change would arrive so soon.

“It has to be family or you would not be safe,” John said in a plea for Stiles to understand.

“I see.”

“Shadow and Matt may leave a lot to be desired as people but they will protect you I’ll make sure of it as a condition of my will that you can carry on working if they move in.”

Stiles absentmindedly rolled up the design and carefully secured it with twine before handing it to his father. “That’s good.”

“If I die before you’re settled they’ll make sure you’re looked after see you well married.”

Now that brought him back. “I’m not marrying Dad.”

John gave him a found smile. “Of course not yet- you’re barely eighteen but life is fragile- your mother taught me that. I would be a fool not to think of your future.”

Stiles ignored how his father pretended not to hear that his son said he didn’t want to marry and went to the fact that he was too young for it even though he was well into the age that he could have a wife or husband by now and no one would question it some may even expect it. “I wish you could leave the forge to me, Dad, then none of this would be necessary.’ Stiles lowered his voice. ‘You wouldn’t have to worry if I had any magic.”

“I know but you know I can’t rules are rules and they would be suspicious if the new Master-glassmaker couldn’t light the furnace without a simple fire spell to save his life.”

“The rules should be changed.” But Stiles knew they wouldn’t at least not for him.

“Maybe they will be but there’s no sign of the guild-masters coming to their senses any time soon the old fools. I’ve made discreet attempts to influence them in your favor but I’m afraid of saying too much. If they think I’m arguing for crippled let alone one without even a spec of magic to be allowed to work and connect the dots to you they might poke their noses into our affairs and take you away from me.”

Crippled was the guild-masters and everyone who mad magic to spare word for people who barely magic. Cruel but true in the world their living in where magic is everything.

Stiles knew that his father’s word is true but it was still hard to accept such an injustice just because he was born without magic.

“You should have pretended I had magic, Dad.”

John chuckled and pulled Stiles up from his chair into a hug. “It might have worked while you where a child but no one would believe the little waif I raised is an eighteen year old mighty glass wizard. I’m afraid to shatter your illusions, my little Stylus, but I fear you are never going to be what one would call a tall man.”

“Oh be quite you big bear I just haven’t gone through my growth spurt yet but just you watch I’ll be even taller than a giant!” All thoughts of magic or cousins vanished at the little jab at Stiles current height. He was indeed short at least compared to everyone seeing as magic somehow made everyone grow ridiculously tall. Only those who had little magic where short, unless you where a dwarf but that’s a given, so no one really took notice in Stiles current stature.

“Well now that’s no way to treat your old man. Remember to show our guests your best manners so they fall in with our plans we don’t want them running out in a fit like last time now do we?”

“I’ll try but that’s all I’m promising but you have to admit they have a way of putting your teeth on edge.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Cousin Stylus this stew is very wholesome,” complemented Shadow Glasstrader. “I see that even without a mother’s influence you have not failed to attain all the womanly skills needed in a household for those who have such little magic.”

Biting his lip so hard he was sure he was biting through it Stiles gave him a tight smile hoping for his father’s sake he mistook his irritated silence for bachelor shyness.

Shadow leaned back in his chair and folded his thin hands across his rounded belly that somehow staid even through the shortage of food. In his late twenties he was already settling to a paunch which looked odd on his lanky frame as if he where pregnant which Stiles was sure he wasn’t but one can never be too sure. His reddish-brown hair was combed smoothly back from his forehead framing his pale oval face. He surveyed the room of apprentices with a superior expression. Stiles could tell he was getting ready to deliver more of his little words of wisdom to what he belied were grateful listeners.

“Uncle John I’m not sure it is quite fitting that my cousin should live without other none claimed crippled companionship in a household filled with unattached magicians.” He said in a loud voice so no one would dare miss what he said, his choice of subject as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

The gentle conversations in the room fell away the apprentices turned their eyes on their master, sitting at the head of the table with his fork frozen half way to his mouth. Stiles forced himself to stare at his plate the gravy smearing the white surface the exact color of his cousin’s hair he dully noted as he tried not to snap at his cousin and let his father handle it.

“Come now, Shadow.” intervened his brother, Matt, who slopped more beer into his glass, “you think too much of what is proper and what’s not. You just said Stiles skilled in all womanly crafts that the crippled must be versed in that I’m sure can be said for all of his other crippled virtues. You are getting as narrow minded as those priests of Hollin always moaning about one thing or another concentrating on the ceremony rather than the substance.”

Matt winked at Stiles in what he thought was a charming roguish way. Blessed with better looks than his brother, he appeared to think his wavy sandy blond hair and stylish mustache made him irresistible. To Stiles, who cared little for the current fashion, the hair on his upper lip looked like a dead mouse somehow got stuck there.

“My son is above reproach,” growled John. “I will not have anyone imply otherwise.”

“Of course Uncle,” Shadow backtracked quickly. He and his brother knew they stood to gain much from an association with their uncle’s forge; Stiles knew they had agreed to humor the old man as long as they had to. “And as I said my cousin is very talented cook even in these days of scarcity.”  
  
John gave a grunt of assent letting the matter drop but the damage had already been done. Stiles now felt conscious of his position in the household as he never did before, and he hated Shadow even more than usual for stealing his peace of mind. He was deciding whether he should retire from the table to vent out his anger and plan a way to get back at Shadow in the privacy of his room when Matt broached a new topic.

“The word on the exchange, Uncle, is that the King is entertaining ambassadors from one of the newly discovered lands in the east, some place called Beacon Hills.” Matt twitched the flared tails of his bronze silk jacket into precise folds on his lap like a lady fussing with her skirts. Shadow was wearing an almost identical coat of a bilious shade of green. Yet another unfortunate fashion the brothers had chosen to follow though Stiles.

“Never heard of it,” said John wiping his plate clean with a crust, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows that had become a habit thanks to Stiles constantly nagging at him to do it at the dinner table after cleaning one too many shirts that where matted with the dinner they had that night. Another concession that he made with Stiles to dinner being that he no longer wore his apron to the dinner table which Stiles was pretty proud of seeing as his father was rather attached to the damn thing.

“I’m not surprised.” Matt turned to Stiles like a tutor addressing a pupil something Stiles loathed completely since most of the stuff Matt ever told him Stiles already knew but for some reason Stiles status as a crippled also meant he didn’t have a brain at least in Matt‘s point of view. “You are too young to remember but under the old emperor of Holt, Fergox Spearthrower, there was not much interest in exploration, only in military conquest. The current King has greatly expanded our knowledge of distant lands, funding numerous voyages of discovery.”

“Best thing King Ramil has done, good for business,” interjected Shadow, speaking through a mouthful. “He should concentrate on this kind of thing and less on reforms if you asked me.”

Good thing no one asked you then, thought Stiles who was a firm supporter of the King and Queen.  
  
“So how are these Beacon Hill folk like?” asked John moving the subject away from a critique of their ruler. He was sure Stiles wouldn’t stay silent for too long if they kept doing it.

“I’ve heard that as a race they are quite tall, mostly black hair, skin tan like field workers. They dress strangely, elaborate robes over tunics, fine layers of slashed cloth so that they look like walking cobwebs,” said Matt.

Must be a pain in the ass to wash, mused Stiles, thinking about the great pile of clothes from his household waiting to be scrubbed clean in the back kitchen.

“Do they have a King?” John pushed his plate away.

“They have someone they call the Master at the head of the ruling family. As I understand it they think of him as a deity.”

As a follower of the old war god Hollin, Shadow sniffed his disapproval at such sacrilege.

“But there is more, Uncle John. They are looking for craftsmen to come to their country to work on a summer palace for the Master.” Matt gave a smug smile that did not sit well with Stiles. “I put a word or two into the right ears, of course, and luckily the Beacon Hill folk had already seen one of your windows in the temple-the one of the Goddess as healer. They were inquiring about you; I would not be surprised if they ask you to send someone from your forge to Beacon Hills to design similar for them.”

Yup that was cousin Matt for you; John looked over at his son. “They want a designer?”

“Yes. They say they have craftsmen skilled in glassmaking, but no designers to match you and no tradition of stained-glass manufacturing.” Matt glanced around the room. “Surely one or two of your apprentices have learned something of your skill, enough to satisfy the Bacon Hill folk? Just imagine the honor for our guild: the first craft to establish a trade with this country! I know the King is very eager to see us succeed.”

John stood up abruptly and clapped his hands, addressing the apprentices. “Boys, clear the table and then retire for the night.”

Matt frowned. “Are you not going to say any more than that? This is great news for us- for your forge.”

John pushed the door open with a bang and strode out, calling over his shoulder. “Shadow, Matt, come to my study. You too Stiles. There’s something we have to discuss.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You did what?! You’ve been letting him dabble in design for years! And not only that you kept the fact that he doesn’t even have a lick of magic in him from the council for eighteen years!” Matt paced the room, tugging at the roots of his hair with one frantic fist while he waved the other around in frantic slashing patterns. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve risked everything- your business, your wealth, your own family!”

John stood with his back to the shuttered window, calmly lighting the candlestick on his desk as if nothing had happened. Stiles sat on a stool near the draftsmen bench rolls of his sketches were stacked in the pigeonholes behind it, stretching almost to the ceiling- years of his work. Shadow slumped in an armchair near the fire, his mouth slack with shock; Stiles could have sworn a fly had flown in their a few minutes ago.

His father blew out the taper. “I don’t think you understand Matt, he does not drabble, Stiles is Torrent stained glass. Every single window is his vision; I’m merely the one who has the privilege of realizing it for him.”

“I don’t believe you.” Matt spun on his heel and loomed over Stiles, an easy feat seeing as how short Stiles is sitting down. “Cousin what is this foolishness? Tell me my uncle has simply lost his senses this must be a joke.”

Stiles didn’t even bother meeting his eyes but ran a finger over the ribbon tying the scroll containing his first design, a wheat sheaf for a local baker that often pinched Stiles cheek and gave him a sweet roll when ever he passed by.

“I’m not joking,” said John.

“By Hollin, I wish you were!” Matt slammed a hand down on the bench by Stiles arm. “It must stop immediately, you hear me? You can’t risk the family like this. You’ll ruin us as glass traders if this comes out!”

Anyone would think he killed someone, not created something beautiful and unique, thought Stiles, focusing on the blond hair that flourished on his cousin’s forearm like a forest; he was sure little people lived in there and skipped in the meadow down near his wrist.

“Stiles is not going to stop,” John replied. “He is a brilliant artist it would be a crime to prevent him from using his talent.”

“It’s a crime to let him continue.”

“No it merely breaks a rule-a rule that should’ve been challenged long ago.”

Matt paled. “You’re not thinking of bringing this out in the open surely? You’d you risk exposing your son to the council?”

John shifted uncountable. “Perhaps if I were a more courage’s man I would I could not risk Stiles like that. More likely than not we’d be thrown out of the guild with no means of earning a living if they don’t look too closely to Stiles. I would prefer it if we were simply left in peace to continue working as we have no one had been harmed as far as I know.”

“I can’t believe you!” Matt was off again, ranting as he strode around the room. “You say no one has been harmed but you fail to recognize that you’ve endangered out entire family by your flagrant disregard of guild and council rules. And why? Because you wish to spoil your son. You’ve let him have his way in this household for too long.”

Shadow chose this moment to add his weight on his brother’s argument. “Indeed, Uncle, I fear you’ve done our cousin a great disservice, taking him from the station into which he was born or what the council would have put him in and tried to make him into the son you never had.”

John’s anger grew now that the attacks had turned to Stiles, his hand shaking as he tried to hold on to his temper. “I do not need another son; I have Stiles.”

“Stiles is a crippled, even more so, and is destined for marriage and babies- that’s if any decent man would have him now.” said Shadow piously.

“It would be an honor for any suitor to marry my son.”

“Not if you’ve been cast out of the guild and are reduced to begging because of him if they don’t find out about his complete lack of magic,” argued Matt.

“It won’t come to that.”

“It might if one of the apprentices ever found out and informed the guild that you’re letting a crippled work or god forbid his lack of magic.”

“They don’t know it’s his work we’re very careful and if no one opens their big mouth no one will know of his lack of magic.”

“But you’re taking a senseless risk!”

“There is nothing senseless about it. Look at the accounts Matt the stained glass is the most profitable part of my business; without him we would be just a mediocre forge.”

Stiles doubted that very much but it stilled warmed him to his father’s defense.

“What are you going to do now, Uncle?” asked Matt sarcastically. “The Beacon Hill folk interest in your designer is likely to place you under intense scrutiny. It will be a miracle of the truth doesn’t come out.”

“Why should it? Unless one of you takes it upon yourself to reveal our secret we can carry on as before. I had hoped by confiding in you like this by naming you both as my successors you will protect Stiles as you would the rest of my business.”

His declaration deflated the cousins’ indignation as rapidly as a pin in a pig’s bladder balloon.

“You’ve named us as your successors?” repeated Matt.

John gave a jerky nod. “I intended to if you agree to let Stiles continue working.”

The cousins’ exchanged looks.

“You are thinking of retiring?” asked Matt.

“No not just yet but I will take you on as junior partners until I do so if that is your wish. When I’m gone the forge will be left to you both equally with the exception of a generous provision to be made for Stiles dowry if he has not already married by then.”

“Perhaps one of us should marry him,” mused Shadow, “keep the money in the family.”

Stiles snapped the charcoal pencil he had been playing with in half.

“That will not be necessary,” replied John curtly. “I wish him to marry for love, not as a business arrangement.”

Matt stroked his mustache thoughtfully in a way that didn’t sit well with Stiles any more than it did at the dinner table. “Of course how very enlightened of you uncle.” He gave Stiles an overly warm grin. “His would be a heart worth winning.”

He’s changed his tune quickly, thought Stiles. One moment calling me worse than a crippled the next a prize worth winning.

“Then I can rely on you both to keep our secret?” pushed John.

“Certainly,” agreed Shadow.

“Indeed but what’s to be done about the contract with the Beacon Hill folk?” asked Matt. “No one will believe that you wish to turn it down, questions will be asked.”

John put an arm around his son’s shoulders, aware that he had not said anything during the whole discussion which was highly unlike him. It was worrying but John couldn’t push the subject as long as Matt and Shadow where still present.

“We’ll worry about that when we have to I have not been asked yet and still may not be.”

“You will be.”

“Then we will find a way ’round the problem as we always do. Right, my love?”

Stiles nodded tiredly resting his head against his father’s side. “Yes Dad.”


End file.
